Late for an Appointment with Destiny
by Kanthail
Summary: Daniel Macmillan, at 14 years old, has just discovered that he's a wizard. As he adapts to the Salem Institute for Witches and Wizards, he finds out that this discovery is only the beginning—while Voldemort may be long gone, a new threat has emerged...
1. Prologue

_A/N: Hey, thanks for checking my story out; it's already nice that I've received a hit considering the unconventional nature of this fic. While this isn't my first time writing, and not even my first time posting, this _is _my first time writing and posting Harry Potter fanfiction, a fandom that demands higher standards, so I'm predictably a bit anxious. Now that I'm five years older and assuming that I'm wiser, I'm posting this story about a 14 year old boy who has an interesting adventure in the United States. I'm hoping that by introducing a new wizarding culture that I bring something fresh to the fandom. Before I get into this story, I think I need to clarify a few things: Canon characters appear, but do not play any particular role and therefore do not go under the exciting process of character re-development. It's set after the presumed defeat of Voldemort, which theoretically happens in 7th year. The rest of the details, I'm sure, will be in the story._

_Also, it's clearly time for the obligatory (and hopefully completely unnecessary) disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_I realize the irony of lifting the disclaimer directly from FA._

_------------------------------------------------_

Late for an Appointment with Destiny

Prologue

Something was clearly wrong. Daniel felt that something was awry as he stood there examining the brown and unremarkable building. Its unusual sign lent the building a degree of antiquity, but otherwise everything else seemed in order. The building gave Daniel a small prickly feeling in the back of his neck; it seemed strangely alive. The curtains inside the windows moved eerily, and he could tell that the way they moved was unnatural.

Daniel's general feeling of unease didn't prevent him from staring at the building, considering the sign: _Madam Belle's Wiccan Wonderland_. What exactly did this building offer? Knowing that he was drawn to this building, he had come to expect something far more extraordinary than a brown and stubby structure. While not able to quite visualize what he might have expected, this certainly not what he would've considered within the realm of possibility.

The teenager understood that something _different_ was supposed to happen here, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it. This feeling dogged Daniel during the entirety of his short journey—an enigmatic sense of anxiousness that didn't materialize into a concrete thought or understandable sensation. While pondering, he sighed heavily, his shoulders moving with the breath. He coughed a little, and his body shuddered. Grimacing, he wearily scratched his arm; the overcast clouds above matched his mood, providing a gloomy and depressing atmosphere.

Hundreds of thoughts raced through his mind, becoming a mess of ideas, visions, and reflections—almost all of these recent. One of his slumped shoulders loosely carried a backpack filled with an assortment of items, most of which he was grateful for having. Inside, he had his last few dollars, a couple of granola bars, and some clothing. Looking every bit the delinquent, Daniel glanced to his right and left; nobody was on this street. Rubbing his chin, now covered with the growth of only a few weeks, he considered the fact that this area seemed entirely deserted. He felt more comfortable this way; no one would be around see the ridiculousness of his stalling to enter an occult niche shop. His wiry body, looking like it had a tad too much testosterone from the facial hair, shivered both from the anticipation and the cold.

Daniel's search for sanity and reason had gone on for a significant period of time, though he was not in a state to guess how long. It was certainly more than a few days, but also less than a month—the trek was evident at the bottom of his now-torn jeans, baggy by preference.

The teenager knew it was summer, but only because he thought that made the most sense. He didn't feel like he was traveling for an excessive time, and he left in the beginning month of summer. He felt lucky, in an ironic, relativistic sense. Despite his fierce determination to spend all of his money, Daniel still had some left. In addition to this stroke of luck, he also hadn't been approached by any strangers who could very easily harm the lost wanderer.

He didn't know it, but this was the virtue of strangers who felt that Daniel at least deserved some protection, even if they weren't willing to offer guidance.

In the distance, Daniel heard the impersonal caws of crows and coos of pigeons, both of which were a plague unto the city. Exciting only to tourists and old ladies, Daniel had grown accustomed to their cacophony and accepted them as simply part of the backdrop.

Daniel continued looking on in silence, as rain began started to fall. The rain provided another soundtrack. As the raindrops struck trashcans and thudded against roofs, Daniel added his own sound—a sharp intake of breath as he tried to build resolve. His hair, which normally brushed past his collar, was matted down against his neck as the rain increased in intensity. Water ran down in rivulets over his face while he remembered the past. Although it was difficult to tell, Daniel was crying. It had all happened too soon.

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_Daniel felt peaceful in his bed. He had just come home from the last day of school, and he felt wonderful. His first year of high school had been exciting, but more or less like ever other year. This freshman would be glad to get rid of the monotony._

_Clearly, Daniel had some plans. First, he would sleep in as long as possible. Then he would do whatever he felt like, provided that Julie—his caretaker—allowed it. He reveled in his carefully planned and well thought-out strategy for enjoying the summer, which was essentially nothing. Right now he was starting phase one of his Summer Relax Plan. His head hit the pillow at eleven o' clock, early by his definition._

_He awoke with a start three hours later. The boy heard voices upstairs and he felt something tickle his nose. Twitching, his nose recognized the smell. His deep brown eyes grew wide as he turned to look at the door. Surely enough, smoke was streaming in from the top of his door in small quantities._

_His lips, framed by weak and newly grown facial hair, formed an O of horror, before he mouthed the word "fire." Instinctively, he checked his clock, although this wouldn't help in any conceivable way. Two o'clock. He knew he should race out of the house as quickly as possible, but his gut wouldn't let him move._

_This gut feeling was a recurring emotion. He had felt it often, most often during sports like soccer when his intuition told him to do what seemed like counterintuitive actions at the time, but helped him tremendously. It made him a decent goalkeeper, but he never much cared for goalkeeping._

_In the back of his mind, he recognized the fact that he wouldn't see this house for a long time. Quickly, he grabbed his backpack, which he had emptied the day earlier in celebration of school's end. Filling it with the nearest useful items—and some not so useful—he rocketed from his bed to the desk near his door. Trying to salvage as much as possible, he grabbed nearly all the objects within reach. Most notably, he grabbed many of the clothes that he had thrown on the floor, as well as his wallet and his pens, which he kept nearby as a habit he developed during Debate, the activity he chose in soccer's stead when he entered high school._

_Living on the ground floor, he recognized the fact that he had more of an opportunity to rush out the house than his caretaker, Julie. His feet slapped against the hardwood floor as he rushed out the door of his bedroom. It was a stroke of luck that he decided not to jump out of the window; he didn't know it, but the windows were Unbreakable. Regardless, the screen mesh would have made it difficult to open and exit efficiently._

_His backpack flapping off of his shoulder, he turned out of the room and into the hallway. The hallway led, upon its termination, to the living room, which also served as an exit from the house. The first thing Daniel noticed in the corridor was the ambient noise. Voices were coming from stairs near the end of the hallway._

_Despite the protestations of the logical part of his brain, he slowed to a stop outside the door leading to the second floor. Seconds later, he heard the rhythmic thumping of something falling down the stairs. Judging from the sound, the object was heavy. It bumped into the door, and pushed it slightly ajar. The sounds grew louder. Daniel simply stared at what he saw. It was a woman, old, but with young eyes. Years later, those eyes would haunt him. They were deep, vibrant and purple. He only knew one person with those eyes. It was Julie. _

_He had always been afraid to admit it, but Julie was his mom. Not in a biological sense, but in a more important capacity. She was supportive, proud, and most significantly, loving. Flashing through his mind were images of Julie hanging up certificates he had won through the years, her smile of delight as he brought home his first Debate trophy and her sympathetic murmur as she nursed the injury he got from riding his first bike._

_But this wasn't how Daniel remembered Julie. Julie was 35, not 75. She was young, athletic, determined, and intelligent. This person was feeble and old. He felt that this woman's will was broken—lines of fatigue and age etched her face as the bags underneath her eyes outlined the seeming lack of sleep that this character experienced. It certainly wasn't Julie._

_The figure wheezed, breathing in and out with great pain. It was here that Daniel saw that this figure wasn't merely feeble, but suffered much. Daniel was surprised by the determination in this woman, and with her dying breaths, she uttered one word._

"_Daniel!" she gasped aloud, clearly expending a great deal of energy on every syllable. Her lips stopped moving, and the wheezing emanating from her mouth ceased as her body grew silent._

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Immediately, Daniel snapped out of his state of morbid fascination and ran. He bolted out of the hallway, grabbed his shoes, and exited the already open door without stopping once. He convinced himself that he was running out of fear of the fire. Rather, he was afraid of the truth. He didn't want to accept the idea that he just witnessed the death of someone he loved so dearly. Hoping that it was instead some trick of his mind, he fled the house, the windows growing smaller with each step.

Had Daniel been more clear-minded throughout the situation, he would've noticed a few things. First, he never saw a sign of fire other than the smoke. Second, smoke _rose;_ for any smoke to reach him, the fire had to have started on the ground floor—which it clearly didn't. Finally, he would've noticed that moments after he left the house, strange beams of light were being fired back and forth between robed figures in the second floor, and then, in his room.

Daniel committed another oversight—he hadn't seen that Julie was also wearing a robe.


	2. Chapter 1

_A/N: Ok, after you're done reviewing the prologue the next step is to either burn your computer (Dell will do it for you, I'm hearing) or read the next installment, which I hate to inform you, gets worse before it gets better. Also, this is my first attempt at anything approaching a cliffhanger._

_And now for the disclaimer (is it needed after the prologue?): This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

_I should add my own flare to it, I suppose—perhaps by adding an addendum (aptly named) indicating that the plot and characters are mine, but that always comes off poorly to me so just understand how obvious it is, despite a lack of copyright protections._

_------------------------------------------------_

Late for an Appointment with Destiny

Chapter 1: Across the Barrier

After fleeing the supposed fire, he knew that returning home wasn't an option. He ran in desperation, hoping that he could leave behind whatever happened. The frightened adolescent stopped to frantically put on his shoes. It took seconds, but he felt like he was wasting precious time. Time for what, he didn't know. After putting on his shoes, Daniel ran as quickly as possible in what seemed like a random direction. Had he been fleeing an actual pursuer, he might've turned corners, ducked through alleys, or simply sought asylum at any one of the neighbor's houses. But the runner was simply fleeing what he had seen—something unknown, yet oddly familiar.

The adrenaline boosted his endurance beyond the level he had when he normally ran. Sprinting for several blocks, he made a beeline for a larger road, assuming that this would give him orientation. While the logical course of action would've been to accost the authorities, Daniel remained suspicious of authorities largely as a result of Julie's natural aversion to law enforcement and public service personnel in general.

He continued sprinting, gradually losing speed. The stress in his body overpowered the adrenaline after the short run. He managed to jog for a few more blocks before succumbing to his fatigue. Grief welled up in his body, becoming an almost physical feeling. Overcome with nausea, the confused teenager decided to sit down, leaning down next to a picket fence. Breathing hard, he fought to control his nauseated state, trying not to throw up. A few moments later, he swallowed hard and started feeling better. Nonetheless, his body was weak with fatigue and stress. Looking over to the bush in front of the fence, he compulsively decided that he needed a nap and the bush was a perfect place. After crawling behind the bush, he concealed himself without thinking and fell asleep.

The next few days, he trekked towards the commercial areas and ever closer to the center of the city. Occasionally, he would enter grocery stores in order to get food and other amenities. There, he would use the water fountains and bathrooms excessively. They would provide the skeleton care he needed. While he missed the appropriateness of the name Cub Foods, he appreciated its conspicuous bathrooms, and oddly enough, the logical layout.

Strangely, he found a tube of toothpaste in his backpack, though he didn't remember putting it in. Instead of a toothbrush, he used his finger, requiring him to wash his hands before brushing his teeth. Brushing his teeth gave him a sense of tradition, which he could hold onto in his new and unexplored life. He had to exercise caution when brushing his teeth, though. Customers walking into a grocery store bathroom would not expect a teenager to be brushing their teeth immediately after store opening.

Mostly, he bought granola bars, but he also bought trail mix and bottled water. His money supply was running out quickly, but he still lived relatively comfortably given the circumstances. Of course, this wasn't really comfortable at all, especially given his somewhat cushioned upbringing. He hadn't taken a proper bath, and at best, washed his face and hands. He felt the dirt caking on his pants, which were large enough to drag across the floor. Occasionally, he also popped into fast food places in order to indulge himself and eat hot food. He knew this was a major money drain, but he really couldn't resist it.

Instinctively, he avoided beggars and secluded alleys, though this really couldn't have helped him too much. He slept behind various stores and once in a warehouse. He gave the warehouse a little thought—it seemed odd to find one as he approached downtown. The buildings around the warehouse were all high-density office spaces and the land values forced property prices through the roof. In the middle of it, there was a warehouse—wasting space. He supposed it theoretically saved on shipping.

For days Daniel searched the city for some sign of what happened, or at least some way to survive. He shied away from shelters and support services—he assumed they couldn't help—acting all along like he knew what he was doing. It wasn't a hard act to pull; his façade of confidence provided all the costuming he needed. Every day, he changed between the three sets of clothes he had. Unfortunately, they were starting to smell, and he hadn't had a shower. The teenager's hair was greasy and he grimaced when he thought about the state of his clothes. The jeans were getting tattered, and his maroon shirt had already developed a small hole in the corner. Although he was never crazy for hygiene, even this bothered Daniel.

During his journey, something pulled him. Direction was imposed upon Daniel, which the disoriented adolescent didn't realize. While he felt he was wandering aimlessly, his path inevitably followed a clear destination, one he didn't realize.

Daniel felt a sense of finality as he reached a concrete brown building in the center of the city. Passersby gave it no heed as they walked on to conduct their various businesses. Daniel thought that perhaps one or two people might find it odd that a brown stucco building was in the middle of the burgeoning metropolis, surrounded by skyscrapers, but he was clearly alone in this observation.

The building leered ominously at Daniel. Failing to do the same, he sighed. Why didn't he just have the guts to go inside? Something about the building appealed to Daniel. It was that same something that repelled him. In the building, he knew that he would likely find something he had both been waiting for and dreading. Julie was dead. Coursing through his mind, the thought waited for something to connect to. It never did.

Finding this building did not amount to entering it, apparently. He stared at it. It stared back. The staring contest didn't pan out as he had hoped. He approached the structure with trepidation, his fear increasing with every step. Ten feet away, the fright became too much for him and he stopped and turned around. He was a coward, he knew it, but he really couldn't help himself. At the foot of the opposite building, which was a rather impressive skyscraper, he took a seat, glaring at the building the entire time.

A few hours passed as he sat there, the sky darkening to a deep purple. His courage failing him, he chose not to enter the building at that particular moment in time. He got up and tried to wander away from it, perhaps looking for another source of food or a different direction entirely. Unfortunately, this course of action failed, as he found himself inevitably walking back and planting himself in front of the skyscraper. Daniel was inextricably tied to the building. The further the adolescent wandered away, the more his desire to return to it grew. Shrugging, he accepted his fate in having to eventually enter the building. He wasn't ready now, though.

As the homeless teenager sat himself down at the skyscraper again, he pulled out a few granola bars, having vanquished his supply of trail mix in a war between his stomach and his brain. He chewed them slowly, relishing every bite. It wasn't long before he fell asleep, his backpack serving as a pillow.

Groggily Daniel awoke, many hours later. The sky was overcast, and it looked as if rain was a distinct possibility. Surprisingly, no one had bothered his slumber during the duration of his stay. He was sure he violated some city code or other, though at this point he was beyond caring. Gradually becoming aware of the building's ubiquitous aura, he stood up, his backpack jerking up with him.

Now he viewed the building with determination, rather than defiance. It started to rain, and the sky reflected his mood. Recalling memories of the past few days forced tears out of his eyes. These tears mingled with the rain, and splashed onto the ground spectacularly, as if each drop held their own significance. Drop after drop, the tears fragmented on the ground, beads of salt-water radiating outward, straining to separate and continuously losing energy as the bits of brine met a similar fate.

Daniel stepped forward powerfully, each stride filled with purpose. As each step brought him closer, the previously emotionless mask that was his face broke slightly more, showing the despair he had hidden so well while in the streets of the city. His steps were becoming quicker, and he soon started running, his shoes slapping the pavement. He reached the building in a very short amount of time, though it seemed like much longer to Daniel.

Missing the door, he collapsed next to the wall, not daring himself to take that final step, into the structure itself. Sobbing, he looked up at the sign. _Madam Belle's Wiccan Wonderland._ It didn't mean anything to him, but the sight of it sent him further into his sobs. The end of his journey meant that he could no longer focus on his next step; it ended here. This meant his mind could wander back, and indeed it did.

His brain became disoriented, casting about for a new focus. Daniel's necessity for focus was driven by an odd habit of his; after a large project, he would feel lost and unsettled. At a loss for any feasible prediction of what would come next, his brain cast around for memories, begging him to pay attention. He still remembered his last report card, which had happily inspired Julie to take both of them out for a celebratory dinner. He remembered his first soccer game; he was benched for nearly its entirety. But later in the game, he became somewhat of a star after substituting for an injured player. He played spectacularly, defending the backfield with a determination that was unbecoming of an eight-year-old. He remembered that Julie was very proud that day. These memories assaulted him and his ability to cope suffered.

Off into the perpendicular streets, the city was becoming more vibrant and active, yet there was no activity on his street. Admittedly, it was a smaller street than the two parallel streets, but the lack of activity on this particular road was conspicuous. Unsurprisingly, Daniel didn't take notice.

Wracked with self-pity, he slammed his fist against the wall. Predictably, it had no effect. Going down to a sitting position, he almost curled up into a fetal ball, trying to calm himself down. Unfortunately, he didn't calm down easily. Out of frustration, he punched the wall again. This particular punch did have an effect, but mostly on Daniel.

His fist bled and the shock of the pain coming from his knuckles stopped his tears. He looked at his fist and felt pathetic. Wiping his eyes with his other hand, he stood up again. His legs felt weak, and they could give rather easily. Nevertheless, he walked towards the door and put his hand on the knob.

He gave a sigh before wiping his eyes again and turning the knob. With what he felt was superhuman effort, he pushed door inwards and stepped across the barrier separating the odd building from the street. Once he was inside he felt oddly different, and somewhat rejuvenated.

He entered the room silently, with his mouth agape. Finally entering the building, he was shocked at what he saw.


End file.
